


The God of Lies and Mischief

by Nytshaed



Category: Marvel, Rock and Roll - Fandom, crossovers - Fandom
Genre: Bars, Crossover, Loki - Freeform, Rock Stars, Rock and Roll, San Francico, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7783330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nytshaed/pseuds/Nytshaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The God of Mischief lands on Earth, banished from Asgard, and has to find his way back home. Oh look, the only thing open is a dive bar in San Francisco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The God of Lies and Mischief

The King of Lies and Promises  
201607.26  
Copyright 2016 Chaoticworks.com

She had thought nothing of taking the offered glass of wine from the man at the reception, and smiled and nodded in respect to the gentleman. He was a member of the court, King Loki’s court of Asgard. She thought him to be an in-law of his somehow, but since she didn’t mingle with many outside of Loki and his guards, she was hard pressed to put names to faces. There was only one name, and one man that mattered if you wanted to survive and live well, that was no secret. She sipped at the wine after the man departed then cast a glance around the ballroom idly watching the socializing, and in one section, courtly dancing that reminded her of styles from the Edwardian period on Midgard. She’d been here seven years, as a consort and confident to the King, and it was her candid answers to his often loaded questions that had kept her in place, and in one piece.

He never let her forget how gracious he was to her, and how tolerant he was of her brutally honest and frank assessments of situations, questions, and people. She never lied to him, even if the answers would anger him, and in the end, when the ranting and threats were passed, he respected her for that. She told him the truth, few others did for fear of their livelihood, and family’s survival. 

Rolling the wine around in her mouth, she found it lackluster compared to those she’d had on Midgard, and preferred the exotic liquors and other potent potions Loki kept in a cabinet in his bed chambers. Some burned going down, some glowed, others cast dreamlike spells on you. Something you couldn’t find back home without a doubt, and were treats metered out very sparingly. She swirled the wine around in the glass and wondered how much of it would need to be drank to get a suitable high from it. Two hours later, she would have her answer.

The pain was excruciating. The poison was one designed to kill slowly, agonizingly, and attacked the nerves in the arms and legs first, where the largest blood flow was. Before this point, she’d felt sick to her gut and after catching Loki’s attention, knelt and begged to be excused. He’d graciously granted the request and instructed her to wait for him in his chambers, until he retired. She hoped she would be recovered enough to receive him and whatever he wanted for entertainment at that point, but it was not to be.

The nausea became stomach cramps, and she vomited on the marble floors of the hall before she was able to reach his rooms, she staggered to a side, guest room and forced her body to continue until she fell onto the ornately decorated bed, and lay on her back shuddering from fever and an electric pain she’d only felt before from his scepter during her first weeks on Asgard.

Her eyes clenched shut with agony, she tried to send out a mental pulse, to summon him. Sometimes his mind was open to these communications, but not as a regular practice. “I need you! Treachery… Please…” was the message and she hoped it would be received and answered swiftly.

Loki sat on a chair that would double as a throne in any other social setting, but this was much smaller than the one he ruled from. This was the Social Throne, the one he lounged in during balls, dinner parties and other social gatherings. He talked with members of his court, laughed easily and reveled in the adoring, and respectful beings gathered around him. He was the adored, and feared center of attention, and that was just how he liked it. It was a grand evening indeed. His brother in law was particularly talkative that night, usually he would have to be forced into such long conversations with Loki, but for some reason this night, he was at ease in the King’s company and was entertaining him with tawdry stories of people of other realms. “I should like to see these realms some day. Tell me, do they have a King?” he asked with a wide, hungry grin. “If not, or even if they do, I will relieve them of him, and set myself in his place.” The sycophants laughed and applauded this suggestion he made, and while he knew most hoped he would take on the challenge and possibly be defeated or killed by the folly, they were careful not to show it. He knew however. Hearts, souls, intentions, he read them like most read books. It was good to be the King, and he never let them forget just who that was.

 

Four hours later while flanked by a squad of his personal guards, he made his way toward his bed chambers. It had been a lovely evening, and a bit of pillow play to cap it off before sleep would be the perfect ending. When he reached his chamber, he stopped and looked around. Solone was not where he’d ordered her to be. A frown crossed his brow and he spun on his heels to address the captain of his guard. “The delight I seek is not here. Why NOT?” he asked, and put a deadly tone on the last word of the question.

The captain was skilled and grace under fire, under battle, and when face to face with King Laupheyson. You could not show fear, only respect, and comply. “My Lord, I shall find out immediately. I will take half of my men to go search…”

“Take them ALL…. I am fine here in my rooms…” he snarled and turned away from the heavily armored men and strode toward the glass cabinets containing bottles and flasks of a hundred different powerful potions from a dozen different worlds. Angrily he grabbed a crystal bucket glass from the rack, slammed it down on the counter then selected a bottle that contained a red liquid that had a silver essences swirling around inside of it. He pulled the cork from the bottle and filled the glass a third of the way, paused, considered, then filled it two thirds, doubling the recommended dosage, and re-corked the bottle before putting it away.

The guards didn’t need to be told twice to dismiss and were gone from his chambers before he took the first sip of the potent and slightly hallucinogenic beverage. They rushed from the Royal Suites and set about locating the King’s favorite plaything, time was of the essence.

Half a drink, and one tolling of the chimes on the clocks later, the captain returned looking flushed, and anxious. “My Lord! She’s ill! I mean, we found her, but her condition…” he said and stopped there when the King turned around slowly and gave him a look of barely concealed rage. “What did you say?”

“Please, My Lord, come quickly, we found her in the guest apartment, she’s taken ill…”

With a snarl and a slam of the glass down onto the nearby table that shattered it and the liquid into smithereens, Loki stormed toward the door of his rooms and the assembled guards parted like scattering pigeons to get give him room to pass. Once he had exited the chamber they fell into formation behind him and followed him as he strode rapidly down the hall. Anger was consuming him. He did not take it well when his plans were thwarted, no matter the reason. He found two guards stationed outside of the guest suite who remained motionless as statues and looked straight ahead as he rushed passed them and into the bedroom chambers beyond. He could not see her immediately, his physician and two other consorts and court attendants were circled around the bed, bent over her. “Away with you all!” he said in a voice that boomed off of the walls and sent them quickly scattering away. His anger was at the boiling point, and about to erupt until he reached the side of the bed and saw her condition. 

Her complexion was pale to begin with, but now her skin, barely covered in a gossamer knee length gown was alabaster in color. Contrasting garishly with her white skin was the deep blue lines of her veins and arteries. Every vessel could be seen on her face, her arms, and legs. Blue streaks crisscrossed her belly, chest and her neck. Her eyes were closed, and she wasn’t moving. As a master of sorcery and alchemy, he new the signs of poison at a glance, but in all his years of mastering his crafts, he had never seen a case as bad as this.

“Breath?” he inquired loudly, not to anyone in the room in particular, as he leaned over and placed his cheek near her mouth and nose. “Solone! Answer me!” he said in that terrible voice, and while the situation was dire, he needed to rouse her, for answers, if that was still possible. She shuddered at the volume of his voice, so close to her ears, and her eyes, bloodshot and red opened slowly to see him there.

“Loki…” she breathed, then gave a sob of pain and her eyes closed again. 

“WHO?! WHO poisoned you?! Tell me!” he shouted at her, not one for a gentle interrogation, no matter the condition of the subject.

“Meryn…. Wine.” she managed to whisper, her eyes remained clenched shut as she felt like she was being burned alive from within.

“When?! Where?!” he demanded, but she did not answer this time. She felt herself being pulled down into darkness, all that mattered was that the pain would stop. She couldn’t focus on anything else.

Loki whipped his attention around to the physician, “Antidote? Did you give her any?” he demanded. The man was wringing his hands and trembling. That spoke volumes. “There is none… for this… I have no potion, no cure for this…” he said in a quiet, apologetic tone.

“Ass! There is an antidote for everything!” he shouted and with a wave of his hand dismissed them all from the room. They were all happy to leave, nothing good was going to be happening in there over the course of the next several minutes. Once they were alone, he framed her face with his hands. She was chilled to the touch, and he felt the slowest of pulses when he was able to locate it on the side of her neck. Tears welled up in his green eyes as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I won’t lose you. I can’t. You’re the only friend I have. The only one I trust.” he said in a strong vow that even he didn’t know how he could keep. Lies, always lies, and tricks were his tools, but he had nothing to use at this moment. He kissed the end of her nose, mindful enough not to touch her lips with his, remnants of the poison were likely still there. Loki slowly retreated back and stood there looking down at her. His mind racing through spells, tricks, anything that could slow the effects of the poison, but his eyes told him it was far too late for stopping and reversing it. She was slipping away and would be done before the next hour. “I just need time. More time to think….” he said and then something seemed to click in his mind. He held out his hand, much like his brother Thor did when summoning Mjolnir. Seconds later his scepter with the glowing blue orb flew into his outstretched hand. He muttered a charm and the stone began to pulse, and glow brighter. He looked down at her, a tender expression on his face, few ever saw as he placed the tip of the golden metal hook to her chest, right over her heart. He’d never tried this sort of magic before, but there was no other spell that could possibly work he could think of. Inwardly, he have it a one in three chance to work.

“I won’t lose you, but, you are going to die.” he said, and his voice cracked at the last word. Loki then focused his energy and made another mutter of spell tongue. The orb flashed brightly, lighting up the entire room and shooting blue light out of the stained glass windows. Her body gave a lurching arch off of the bed, then dropped back down, still. The light in the orb returned to its normal brightness, but it had a more of a purple shade to it now. Loki smiled. He sniffled, and then looked down at her. “I have you. I have your soul. Rest. Let go.” he said and watched silently, until a moment later she drew her final breath, and her body succumbed to the poison.

“Until I find the cure my pet, you shall rest. Always mine, you will be. Always here, you will rest.” he said then stepped three paces back from the bed and aimed the scepter at her. Calling upon his Jotun heritage and powered by the scepter, he shot a shower of ice and snow that enveloped the bed and her along with it. A white fog swirled around him and filled the room as he cast the spell. When he was done and the fog melted away with the night breeze coming in from the windows, Solone was entombed in a coffin made of translucent ice and snow. The entire bed with her in it had been sealed in ice, and would protect her mortal form until he found a way to heal it, then reunite it with her soul.

“Not how I intended this evening to end…” he said after long moments of staring at her in the tomb. “But, you will rise. You will be cured. You have my word, my promise.” he said then turned and left the room. He sealed the door shut behind him, and erased it from view, from all eyes but his own. The space where it had been in the hallway was now a blank stretch of stone wall. He pushed aside the soft, messy emotions paining him at her loss, and instead replaced them with the hot burning hate that would fuel his revenge, and a clever, horrible plot to avenge her.

Five Years Earlier.

It was raining, hard. No thunder and lightning because, well, this was the west coast after all, and those sort of storms didn’t have but once every ten years or so. There were too many hills, mountains, valleys and human created monoliths to allow for that sort of natural light show. It was half past midnight on a Thursday evening, not a soul was on the street, not even Bahbz the homeless local who spelled his name with a silent “z”. Mike Wicke stood on the sidewalk, under the worn and faded awning of the bar called “Secrets” and pulled on the cigarette he was nursing. He was still fighting the addiction demon Nicotine, and had slowed down quite a bit. It was a slow, slow night at the bar, no one inside drinking, and no one on the street. He’d rather be in the back office looking at porn and jerking off, but he had a business to run, and at the moment, he wasn’t the only one at the bar.

Merlot was inside. She was his main bartender, confident, and way back years ago when he’d first arrived in San Francisco with amnesia, his first local fuck. That had been a One Time Only offer, and since it hadn’t been anything to write to Penthouse about, it hadn’t been repeated. A friendship had been formed out of it, and now years later, they were here on this crappy, rainy night, with no one drinking, and nothing else going on.

Mike let his mind wander to places he had been before, places he had lived, and seen. He couldn’t remember past when he’d arrived in San Francisco, found wandering around Golden Gate Park during a music festival with no memory, no ID, nothing to tell his story. He’d started one that day, and left what was ever in the past, rot and die there. Living in the now was fine with him, he was still young enough to enjoy life, forty eight years old, and looked like he’d fallen off of a tour bus filled with a hair metal band and a gaggle of groupies. His arms were sleeved in tattoos, his hair long, shaggy cut with bangs that came down to the bridge of his nose, and some wrinkles and premature aging and skin damage due to years of tanning thrown in for good measure. He looked the part of a Rock and Roll relic, but make a career now of denying he’d ever been such an animal. He’d opened the bar called Secrets a couple of years back, and that name was no accident.

When the cigarette was down to the filter, he pulled on it a final time before tossing it into the river running gutter with a hiss. It floated away like the thoughts he’d been having and after blowing out the smoke to the breeze brought by the storm, he went back into the bar. It was warm and muggy inside, and if it didn’t violate 12 different laws, he’d have the door propped open. He strode across the room and headed for the store room behind the bar.

Merlot was behind the bar, looking at something on her phone that was casting her face in a bluish light. She was younger than he was, by a few years, but didn’t look anywhere close to her age. She avoided the sun, was a non-smoker, and aside for a liking for expensive tequilas and rum, she led a pretty clean lifestyle. As far as he knew anyway. The decor of the small, ancient bar was somewhere between kitsch of the 60’s and Tiki Lounge. It has been a bar for as long as anyone in the neighborhood could recall, it’s name just changed every decade or so to fit the current drinking and social trends. Mike could care less about that, one could tell that from looking at him.

“Ugh.” Merlot growled as he walked by her and back out of sight. “You brought the smoke in with you.” she complained as the pungent odor made her wrinkle her nose in an allergic reaction.

“I could come back out there and fucking fart, I had Chinese for dinner. You want that instead?” came the reply.

Merlot rolled her eyes. “No. Thanks. I have no desire to experience anything that emerges from your body.”

“Ouch… You’ve hurt my feelings. I may have to go home early and cry.”

“We could close early and no one would notice.” was her reply as she continued to scroll through the pictures on some social media site to pass the slow moving time.

“Oh no, we might get that last, lonely tourista who needs to drown their sorrows here in the City of Brotherly Love.”

“That’s Philadelphia, Mike. This is San Francisco.” she replied drolly. 

“Oh sorry, Fairyland.” he said with an effeminate flourish to the last word. “But there’s a lot of brother lovers in this town too, so I’m not off the mark.” he countered, then sat down at a broken down desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a half gone bottle of whiskey. He took two long swallows from it before replacing it, then opened a magazine to flip through. It was the slowest of nights, with nothing remarkable occurring.


End file.
